


A Home for Two

by AnnaofAza



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Harry Hart Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4943593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaofAza/pseuds/AnnaofAza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percival returns from his mission to find Eggsy sleeping on a couch in Harry's office.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Home for Two

When Percival first enters the office, Harry raises an index finger and presses it against his lips, eyes darting to the right of his desk.

Eggsy is lying on a new couch, draped over the cushions like a cat and arms wound around a pillow. He's in his suit—or what remains of it: jacket slung over one of the arms of the couch, tie hanging at the back of Harry’s chair, and oxfords strewn on the rug. Soft breaths huff loudly in the mostly-silent room, an occasional snort—much like his pug’s—escapes his drooling mouth. On all accounts, it should be disgusting, but the way Harry looks at Eggsy is the same way Percival knows how he used to look at James.

"He's exhausted from his mission in Prague," Harry explains, voice hushed as to not wake the sleeping man. His eyes are unmistakably fond when he takes another glance in Eggsy’s direction. Percival notes that the couch already looks well-worn, with a clear impression of Eggsy’s body pressed into the fabric. It’s also a garish red-and-yellow plaid, something Harry would never have allowed, but he’s always made allowances for Eggsy.

 _The suit,_ he thinks, with mild irritation and amusement. Harry always gave a gift to his candidates, something to keep even if they walked away without the knighthood, but a horribly-expensive jacket, jeans, and polo combination, along with a tour of the armory and a Kingsman-tailored suit was far from a tiny throwing knife or a wine-testing kit.

"You've always indulged the boy," Percival comments, hand on the seat opposite of the desk. Harry nods for him to sit, and Percival nods towards the couch. “How long? No,” he corrects, “when did you two realize?”

“Did you know the whole time?”

Percival tries not to smile at the disgruntlement on his old friend’s face. “After your funeral, I was fairly certain of his feelings, and after you came back…” He shakes his head. “It reminded me of those movies James and I used to watch. I nearly expected him to drop the files he was holding.”

Instead, Eggsy had kept his grip on the papers, as everyone at the Round Table froze, Merlin slowly raising both hands as if bullets were going to fly. Roxy looked towards both of them nervously, and Percival silently communicated for her to wait. For several long minutes—to the both where Tristan loudly coughed to break up the silence—Harry and Eggsy simply stared at each other, mouths hanging slightly open without blinking. If Tristan hadn’t interrupted, Percival would have liked to see how long the two could impersonate dead fish.

Merlin expected swearing. Roxy predicted tears. But the meeting progressed as if nothing had changed, and halfway through, when Percival saw Eggsy fix Harry with a nervous grin, and Harry returned it with a full-blown smile, he’d known.

“It happened while you were away for your mission,” Harry explains, voice still lowered. “Eggsy lives in my house—as you know—and I woke up to the smell of breakfast, the same he makes every morning if he’s not away, and _realized_.” He laughs, mind clearly still fixed on the pleasant memory. “Not as dramatic as you and James snogging just as that bomb in Budapest went off in the background, but…”

“But what _date_?” Percival suddenly interrupts. “Do you know the exact date?”

Harry gives him a curious, if annoyed, look. “What? Why?”

“I know you remember it, you sentimental fool,” Percival demands. “The. Date.”

“The eighth.”

Percival shakes his head in resignation. "Then Roxy would have won the bet."

" _Roxy_ bet on this?"

"Most of the agents, sir. They’ve been waiting for this since Merlin found you in that hospital.”

“That long?” Harry asks, looking astonished. “Well. Well.” He glances at Eggsy, and smiles. “No need to wait any longer, it seems.”

Eggsy then makes a sleepy sound in the back of his throat, and Harry reaches over and down to run his hand through the boy's hair.

"'Arry?" Eggsy murmurs sleepily. "'Bout done?"

"Almost," Harry replies, fingers winding in the longer strands. "Few minutes, and we can go home."

"Are you going to carry me to the tube?"

"And to the cab, and through the threshold.” The words sound chiding, but Percival suspects Harry would carry Eggsy to Scotland if the boy demanded it.

 _“James,"_ he remembers himself groaning, _“you arsehole, I had to comb through two days worth of rubble to find you and swim across the Thames at three in the morning. The things I bloody do for you, and you couldn’t be bothered to wake up for another two weeks. Inconsiderate, you are.”_

Eggsy half-yawns, eyes still closed. "Will...do something nice for you later."

"You don't have to do."

"A gentleman always...return favors."

Harry brushes a kiss on top of Eggsy's forehead, so tender that Percival feels like an intruder. "Later, love. Just get some rest; I just need to go over a mission with Percival.”

“M’okay,” Eggsy mutters. “Don’ keep ‘im long, Perce.”

Percival takes one look at the way Harry’s hand goes to clasp Eggsy’s, and sighs, already beginning to stand. “I’ll type up the mission report and have it sent to you before morning. Take him home.”

Harry’s eyes widen slightly. “Perci—”

“I won’t do this again, and if you tell Merlin, I’ll release the video of you scrambling down that fire escape in London in your briefs.”

“Please,” Eggsy drawls, still lying on the couch and his hand still in Harry’s, “that’s actually an incent—“

“Allow me to keep my dignity, both of you,” Harry lightly scolds, but nods gratefully.

Percival, as he’s turning away, catches his boss swinging up Eggsy into his arms bridal-style. Eggsy leans up to kiss him on the nose, and Harry smiles so brightly that the wrinkles near his eyes deepen. They’re going to go home, perhaps settle into bed right away and revel in each other’s simple presence. They’re also going to wake up in the morning next to each other, eat breakfast, and come back to work with silly, secret glances that skirt Kingsman protocol. They’re going to continue this routine, until…

Something in Percival’s chest twists, and he manages a “farewell, Arthur, Galahad,” before stumbling out the door.

He walks through the large, lonely gardens to where a parked cab is already waiting, and climbs in. Percival wearily inclines his head when the driver’s head turns to face him. “Where to, sir? Home?”

“Home,” Percival says, a heavy weight on his tongue, and leans against the headrest. He’s now reminded of the silent flat, the too-large bed, and the extra key kept above the door, just in case. Trying to remember what his mentor told him— _a gentleman does not allow for selfish grievances—_ Percival watches the streetlights dip in and out of view as his eyes slowly slide closed.

He should be used to going home alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be happy, but yeah. Sorry.


End file.
